Oh Little Renee. Poor child. Did I hear you correctly? You couldn’t wait to be done with school so you would never have to worry about math and numbers again? Oh Renee. Doll. Number shortage little child.
Did you forget you crochet? You will forever be configuring, recounting, tweaking and doing quantum physics just to get that damn shawl to be the right size, those slippers to be just an inch longer without adding any width. Those darn slip stitches, single crochets, doubles and triples. Decreases and increases. Growing children. Those numbers are going to dance in front of you more psychedelically than those triangles did that one time in geometry. You know the time I’m talking about. Yes. That time.
Did you know you would constantly struggle with your weight, ups and downs. Learning and perfecting more diets and traditions of eating than a Priest hands out Hail Marys after January 1? Each of those coming with its own unique and terrifying rules and collections of numbers to fiddle or follow. Finally settling upon the FitBit and Weight Watchers as the easiest to roll after, kicking and screaming. Even with their constant parade of pink elephants. I’m sorry, I mean numbers and points to track. Track. Track.
Run away from numbers, as far as you can to the written page. Simply write. Write life. Love. Lust. Hate. Pain. Destruction. Blood. Angst. Haunts. (All before seven in the morning mind you. Must get up and get to tracking everything else.) Don’t forget your word counts. Averages. Edit counts. Percentages of adverbs, passive, and pronouns. Track. Count. Divide. Repeat.
Balance grocery lists and recipes for two into four. Spit out the numbers. Absorb. Start again tomorrow.
Timers. Trackers. Charts. Destinations. Miles. Pages. Words. Calories. Steps. Homework. Time changes. Time Zones. Too late to call? Too early? Submissions. Admissions. Submit. Repeat.
Follow My Journey to Publication